


Karneval

by Fweeble



Series: Karneval AU [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, M/M, Schmoop, Wooing, slightly aged characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fweeble/pseuds/Fweeble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lots of important life-events revolve around carnivals. At least, they do for Damian and Tim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Karneval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carnivals are a sure-fire way to woo anyone, even a Bat.

“Drake, I require you to accompany me to the carnival this weekend.”  
  
“You’re thirteen, you hardly need a chaperone.”  
  
“Grayson insists that I am at an age in which bad choices are made.”  
  
Tim freezes and glances up at Damian, the laptop screen reflecting off his perfectly polished glasses.  
  
“An age in which bad choices are made?”  
  
“Yes, he claims that I will be pressured into trying things,” and Damian allows himself to scoff at the notion. As if anyone could pressure  _him_  to do anything.  
  
Apparently Tim feels the same way because his typing picks up again and there is an amused smile tugging at the edges of his lips. The man hums lightly and Damian can’t quite place the song.  
  
“Ask Collin to go with you.”  
  
Damian has prepared for this. He had systematically made a list of every possible alternative and determined every possible excuse for each one of them.  
  
“He’s busy mooning over a girl at his school.”  
  
“Alfred?”  
  
“Pennyworth is required here; having him accompany me to such an event would have no meaning.”  
  
Tim cocks an eyebrow at that. “Dick?”  
  
“As if I would want him clinging to me and high on sugar for an entire night.”  
  
“Touché. Bruce?” A slight frown before continuing, apparently vetoing that option before Damian can reply, “Jason?”  
  
“I’m pretty sure Todd will introduce me to the things Grayson wishes to keep me from.”  
  
Tim doesn’t bother disguising his snort of amusement before he continues. “I hear you get along rather well with Bart.”  
  
“He has plans with the clone.”   
  
“Kon. He has plans with Kon, not ‘the clone,’” and there is a short pause and Damian is suddenly quite sure his plan has succeeded, much more easily, in fact, than he had expected.  
  
“Is there any particular reason why you would want to go to a carnival?”  
  
Damian makes a show of biting his bottom lip before replying, “I’ve been told it is an important childhood milestone I have yet to experience.”  
  
“I would hardly call a night at a carnival a milestone.”  
  
“Drake, I wish to go to the carnival, I have been forbidden to go alone, Grayson has insisted that he chaperone if there is no one else, and you are the  _only option left_.”  
  
Tim pushes his chair back and swivels around to face him, amusement dancing in his eyes. He crosses his legs, steeples his fingers, leans forward and looks positively devious.  
  
“Phrasing it like that doesn’t exactly endear me to your cause, you know.”  
  
And it’s not a cause, it’s not like he’s campaigning for Tim to go with him to the carnival. Although a small part of him is willing to make it into a campaign if it means convincing Tim. Just a small part. Eighty six percent. It’s really just an itty bitty part.  
  
“Please, Drake. I would like to go to the carnival with you,” he pleads as grudgingly and reluctantly as he can.  
  
“Great. We can head out at five,” and Tim is back to typing furiously on his computer.  
  
Grayson had implied that asking the person of his affection to attend the carnival with him would at least gain him a smile.  
  
—  
  
It’s a quarter before five and, last he checked, Tim is still in his t-shirt and worn gym shorts and typing away on his beloved laptop.   
  
He will forcibly pry the man away from the damn thing and into proper clothing if he has to.   
  
No one will ruin tonight for him, not even Timothy Jackson Drake.   
  
He’s pacing by the front door two minutes before five and ready to start bellowing before Tim comes appears dressed immaculately, as always.   
  
The low turtleneck and dark skinny jeans are a wonderful combination, actually.  
  
Damian tosses a helmet at Tim, “Let’s go.”  
  
And he might have pitched a fit when Tim insisted that no, a thirteen year old is not allowed to drive a motorcycle, but the anger and humiliation quickly dies away with the feel of Tim under his fingertips.   
  
—  
  
Grayson, Damian has to concede, is actually very knowledgeable about dating. A carnival is an ideal place for a date, even if the person being wooed is a member of the Bat Clan.  
  
He had gotten Tim cotton candy and won a few atrociously colored stuffed animals (the black and neon green elephant is a particular eyesore). He even manages to convince Tim that no, he has no particular love for that stuffed tiger, why would he? He’s just going to toss it out once they get home. Tim offers to appropriate the ‘poor thing’ for him –mission success.  
  
They peruse a few stalls and ride a few of the attractions before he suggests the Ferris wheel.  
  
Tim knocks down the entire pyramid with one throw and requests a small squirrel keychain from the man in the tent. It actually is a little adorable, really.  
  
“A souvenir for Dick,” he explains.  The squirrel’s rather manic smile does somewhat resemble the eldest Wayne child.  
  
“And I don’t mind riding the Ferris wheel later,” Tim agrees easily as he pays the man again and winds up for the next throw.   
  
This time, he gets the penguin keychain. He dangles trinket a bit, appreciating it, before gesturing at the Ferris wheel.   
  
Damian tries to not look too pleased.  
  
They’re sitting in the Ferris wheel, and Damian has an entire speech prepared on how beautiful the night sky is (all with subtle implications that Tim is far more stunning) when Tim shifts and re-crosses his legs.   
  
“So, when are we going to talk about this?”  
  
He contemplates not answering; he hasn’t prepared for this, but of  _course_  Tim would figure it out.  
  
“When did you know?”  
  
“After your comment about Alfred.”  
  
He mentally reviews the conversation. It was rather telling. He knew he should have been more prepared, recited everything just a few more times before the mirror before facing the real thing. It’s frustrating how embarrassed and flustered Tim can make him feel.   
  
“The Ferris wheel suggestion wasn’t very subtle either.”   
  
It probably wasn’t.   
  
“This isn’t a date.”  
  
“I never said it was!” And Damian is frustrated. Because despite everything, he wishes it was.  
  
“For one, you won’t be getting a good night kiss at the door.” Tim leans forward and leaves a chaste kiss on Damian’s forehead. “But I will be going home with you.”  
  
In other words, things won’t change.   
  
This isn’t how he planned everything. There was supposed to be a heart-felt confession, a blushing acceptance, and as close to a ‘happily ever after’ as real life can get. All the romantic comedies he had been forced to watch by Dick and Steph had all but guaranteed his plan.   
  
“No. I do not accept it.”  
  
Because Damian has planned this for weeks and he doesn’t want things to end like this. He has planned everything down to the smallest damn detail, even the flavor of the cotton candy he had bought Tim, and he’s not letting it all go to waste. He’s just not.  
  
“I have…feelings. For you. And I expect you to accept them and then become mine.” He sits up a bit straighter. “And then we will have many pleasurable outings together and enjoy each other’s company until we reach a suitable age to be wed.”  
  
He’s not crying, he’s not some blubbering fool, but he might as well be from the look on Tim’s face.   
  
“I’m going to Europe in two days. Bruce has given me the job of setting  up a base of operations in Germany.”  
  
There’s just this feeling of ‘oh’ and Damian doesn’t know what to do. So he does what he always does.  
  
He lashes out.  
  
Or, he’s about to.  
  
The angry, vitriolic words die in his throat when Tim smiles gently at him and –if this isn’t love, he isn’t sure what is.   
  
“I think I hate you,” is all he can say to that smile.   
  
He tugs the other man towards him and kisses him, closes his eyes and kisses the person who can play with his heart the same way a cellist coaxes music and song from lifeless metal strings.  
  
“I love you.” And he hates how broken and tiny his voice is. Hates it almost as much as Tim is breaking his heart.  
  
Tim smiles and holds his hand. “When you’re eighteen, come and find me.”  
  
“You’ll wait for me? Until I’m eighteen?”  
  
“Of course not,” Tim snorts, “I’m going to get on with my life. Meet new people, maybe fall in love, date. And so will you.”  
  
Damian had been warned that love was a cruel mistress, but he finds he had never given her the credit she deserved. Tim’s rejection hurts more than he had ever expected it to.  
  
“But if, in five years, you still feel the same way, feel free to fly to Germany and try to woo me into your arms.”  
  
“Even if you have already found someone?”  
  
Tim smirks. “What do you think?”  
  
“Be prepared. I’ll come for you in five years.”  
  
“I look forward to it.”  
  
When they get home, Tim drops the penguin keychain into Damian’s hands (“A souvenir of our not-date. I had fun,” he says) and disappears up the steps.  
  
So maybe he doesn’t get that goodnight kiss at the door, but in five years, he’ll get the heart he’s been after.  


	2. Fünf Jahren (Five Years)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't immediately fly to Germany. He's not that desperate.

Tim is true to his word and leaves two days after their trip to the carnival.   
  
Damian refuses to see him off and sits by one of the large windows overlooking the front entrance. He watches Bruce and Dick help Tim load his luggage into the car and then pile into the car after him. He watches as Alfred drives them to the airport, to the plane that will take Tim so far away.  
  
He tells himself he isn’t bitter.  
  
He opens the door to Tim’s room –what is now no longer Tim’s room –and sits on the bed. Tim had taken everything with him.   
  
Hey lays down on it, burrows his face into a pillow and inhales. Alfred will probably change the sheets and pillowcases after returning, or perhaps the next day. Then there will be nothing remotely Tim left in the manor.   
  
He startles a bit when his fingers brush against something not-cloth under the pillow.  
  
“Damian  
  
I hope you don’t mind that I took the tiger you didn’t want. I feel that I may need some company while abroad. I have decided to name him Mr. Cuddles.  
  
Tim”  
  
On closer inspection, he realizes that the stuffed animal is indeed missing from the room, much like everything else. Somehow, knowing that a piece of their day together is with Tim eases some of the hurt that the man has left behind.  
  
He starts using the penguin keychain that day.  
  
—  
  
He exchanges emails with Tim on a regular basis. The entire family does.  
  
He tries to integrate himself more fully into civilian life, meet the people that Tim says he will come to like, maybe even fall in love with. Each day is a trying day among the peons of the world and sometimes Damian hates Tim a little bit more for pushing him into this world.  
  
He dates a bit, but mostly in retaliation when he hears from Dick that Tim has gotten a girlfriend in Germany.  
  
Things never get beyond the second date and a few chaste kisses. He tries, really, but it’s really hard to fall in love again after loving Timothy Drake.  
  
At least, that’s what Stephanie tells him.  
  
It had bothered him, once, spending so much with Tim’s ex-girlfriend, but those feelings have long since worn away as they spend time plotting his future plans. Because he will go to Germany and woo the damn socks off the man until he gives in, because he is Damian Wayne-al Ghul.  
  
Collin just tells him it’s always hard getting over your first love.  
  
Damian tells him Tim isn’t his first love. The man is his only love.  
  
Bruce warns him. He refuses to listen. He isn’t clinging to a childhood crush, this is love, and he has learned from his father’s mistakes to never let go.  
  
Calendars have suddenly become a very important part of his life.  
  
—  
  
When Damian turns eighteen, he doesn’t immediately board a plane and fly to Munich.   
  
He doesn’t even fly to Munich before his birthday so he can stand outside Tim’s door when the clock hits midnight and he is officially ‘of age.’  
  
He stays in Gotham and continues to exchange emails with Tim. He finishes school.  
  
He signs up for the Spring Semester at Gotham University. Under reasons why he’s postponing his education, he writes: “Pursuing a life goal.”  
  
He exercises every bit of self-control he has.  
  
—  
  
He boards the plane and looks out the window and is calmer than he ever expected he’d be.  
  
He anticipates.  
  
—  
  
It is the sixth of January when he sets foot in Munich.  
  
It is still the sixth of January when he stands outside Tim’s door, luggage in hand, half-tempted to sneak in.   
  
Just to check that the man has enough security.  
  
The door opens before Damian can even start. He is only mildly disappointed at the missed opportunity.  
  
“I have come, just as I promised.”  
  
And Tim smiles sardonically, opening the door a little wider for the other man.  
  
“You have also grown more than I ever expected you would. Are you taller than Bruce now?”  
  
“Yes, but I have yet to surpass Grandfather.”  
  
Tim makes a face.   
  
Damian sits down on the sofa after Tim closes the door and disappears into the kitchen. The older man appears moments later, carrying a tea tray loaded with pastries, cups, a teapot, and all the tea fixings anyone could want.  
  
“I almost didn’t expect you to come,” Tim informs him after portioning out tea and pastries and taking a sip, “Your birthday passed quite a while ago.”  
  
Damian hums the tune that Tim had hummed five years ago, when he was a thirteen year old boy struggling to ask his twenty year old adopted brother out on a date.  
  
“It wasn’t the right time. It takes time to plan,” he replies enjoying the mint flavor of the tea, “I have been told that without bricks, it is very difficult to woo you.”  
  
The smaller man snorts into his tea.   
  
“I see you have begun talking to Steph more.”  
  
He agrees noncommittally.   
  
“And it will only be more difficult, since I have the additional task of stealing you from the arms of someone else.”  
  
He is confident enough to admit that he had spent many days in the past, bitter over the mysterious woman who had managed to steal Tim’s heart. He could forgive Stephanie, it was before his time in Gotham, but he had seen Tim first, loved Tim first. By all rights, Tim’s heart should be his first, always his.   
  
“So what is your master plan to have me swooning in your arms?”  
  
“A carnival.”  
  
He stands up and tugs Tim up after him. He wraps possessive arms around the other man, leans down and whispers, “I failed to capture your heart at a carnival when I was thirteen. It is only appropriate that when I succeed, it be in a carnival.”  
  
“I see, so we will be going to the Karneval, then?” There is a suppressed giggle as hands push him away. He lets go and grabs a hand instead, laces fingers.  
  
“Of course. Prepare enough luggage for three days and two nights. We will be leaving for Köln in an hour.”  
  
There is a twinkle in Tim’s eyes when he disappears into his bedroom and packs.  
  
—  
  
It is dark when they reach Köln. The room Damian had reserved for them is spacious, overlooks the parade route the _Dreigestirn_  will take, and has two beds.   
  
Damian is only slightly embarrassed that he hopes only one bed will be needed after tomorrow night.  
  
Grayson is a horrible influence.  
  
They chat a bit. How was school? What university did he choose? Has Munich (München, Tim corrects) been quiet lately? Does Tim enjoy it?   
  
He tactfully doesn’t ask the question, “Do you love München so much that, when you become mine, you will not return to Gotham with me?”  
  
They settle into their respective beds and Damian wills himself to sleep.  
  
—  
  
The sky is beautiful and they are out on the streets of Köln at eleven, with only eleven more minutes left until the festivities start.  
  
The look of excitement that crosses Tim’s face as he takes in the colors and sights of Karneval in the morning light makes Damian’s heart constrict painfully.   
  
He buys Tim marzipan instead of cotton candy, he brings Tim to have his face painted instead of winning him a stuffed tiger, and he once again rides carnival attractions with Tim.  
  
“Trying to recreate our not-date?” Tim laughs breathlessly, the crisp winter air turning his cheeks a rosy pink color.   
  
“I’m taking you on a proper date.”  
  
Even when he’s rolling his eyes, face painted with colorful little stars and hearts and wind mussed hair, Tim is the most breathtaking sight Damian has ever seen.  
  
Damian remembers the speech he had prepared that night, the words of childish infatuation and beauty he had so painstakingly perfected, and realizes that they meant nothing compared to what was before him.  
  
Maybe Bruce was right, and what he felt when he was thirteen was childish infatuation. But through the five years of email exchanges, the longing for someone who was separate by such distance, it had grown and matured.  
  
Even if it wasn’t love before, it was now.  
  
He lets Tim drag him deeper into the crowd of bodies.  
  
—  
  
Tim has managed to get Damian’s face painted as a tiger before the parade begins. He catches handfuls of the thrown candy, intent on presenting them to Tim, when he sees the other man passing the candy he had caught to the small children who are not on their parents or older siblings’ shoulders. He presses his candy into the older man’s hands when Tim runs out.  
  
“I will get more for the children,” he promises, and uses his height and reach to his advantage.  
  
Damian will do anything to make Tim smile at him like that.  
  
When the Dreigestirn’s float finally reaches them, he wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders and pulls him close.  
  
Tim hums, pressed into his side, “I’m infinitely glad you didn’t use your considerable wealth to put me as the  _Jungfrau_. It would be a lie in too many ways for it to be comfortable.”  
  
And it’s not like he expected Tim to be a virgin. The man is twenty five and has been in a committed relationship with some mysterious Bavarian woman for three years.  
  
But the hidden implication that Tim isn’t still hurts that possessive side of him that he has never outgrown.  
  
“It was a possibility Stephanie and I had discussed. But she had insisted that such attention would only hurt my plans.”  
  
“I’m glad you have gotten over your childish nickname for her. And she’s right. She always is.”  
  
He hums a bit, distracted by the emotions churning in him. He looks up at the sky.  
  
“We should ride the Ferris wheel when the stars are the brightest.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
—  
  
They are once again in a Ferris wheel under a night sky and the view is only more breath taking with the stars visible without the heavy Gotham pollution.  
  
Damian takes both of Tim’s hands in his and waits until the other man looks him in the eye.  
  
There had been prepared speeches. Confessions he had carefully scripted out with the help of Dick and Steph over the months before he stepped onto the plane.   
  
There had been.   
  
“Timothy, if you do not love me now, I will accept that. I came here to make your heart mine like you have taken mine, but I have realized that I am content to have my heart in your hands, even if I will never have yours.”  
  
His smile is a bit bitter, but he likes to think he has grown and matured in the five years he has spent pining after Tim.  
  
“And although I will leave still resentful of the woman who has managed to capture your heart, I believe I will always love you.”  
  
And he feels so bare and a little broken, sitting in a tiny car, suspended in the air, with the person he has fallen so completely for, that person’s hands in his own.   
  
Once again, things have not gone as planned, but somehow, it feels as if things have gone right. He will return to Gotham, nurse his wounds, and maybe, after this, he can finally fall in love again.   
  
Tim laughs and leans up to lay a small kiss on his lips.  
  
“What happened to the promises you have told me? That you will win my heart despite all obstacles in your way?”  
  
Tim’s fingers lace with his and Damian’s heart is caught in his throat and he finally truly understand those movies he watched with Stephand Dick.  
  
“Beate and I broke up a few months before your birthday. Didn’t Dick tell you? It is a bit difficult to continue a relationship when I have such strong, incestuous feelings for the little brother I had left behind five years ago.”  
  
No, Dick had failed to mention that before he had boarded the plane. He will exact his revenge properly when he returns to Gotham.  
  
Damian wrinkles his nose. “Don’t say that.”  
  
“But that is what this is, you know. Incest.”  
  
“We are hardly related by blood and I can assure you I have never looked at you as anything even remotely brotherly.”  
  
“Tell that to the paperwork.”  
  
There is a magnetic pull and both lean forward, and Damian can’t help but think that the third of something is always the best as they kiss again.  
  
“You really had me worried when nearly a month had passed after your birthday and you still hadn’t shown up. I was beginning to believe I had missed my opportunity.”  
  
Damian snorts, “You are hardly a fair individual, manipulating me to fly across the world to confess my feelings once again, sure of rejection.”  
  
Tim smiles and leans up again, and the fourth kiss is just as perfect, “Mmm, I guess not.”  
  
Five years later and Damian realizes he has the heart he had sought after all along. 


	3. Venice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris may be the world’s city of love, but Venice is their city of love.

  
He had graduated from Gotham University with honors in December. Tim had flown in and attended the graduation ceremony that Damian had only gone to because the other man had insisted it was a milestone in his life.   
  
The only reason this existed was because of another ‘milestone,’ and so Damian had reluctantly acquiesced to his boyfriend’s demand.   
  
Besides, there is very little Damian wouldn’t do if it meant seeing the pride and excitement that paint his beloved’s face.   
  
He had walked to his family after the ceremony, certificate in hand, and found himself mobbed Dick and Steph, before a grinning Tim tugged him down for a congratulatory kiss. Cass had shyly siddled up to him and wrapped her arms around him, praising him on his achievement, while his father had stood off to the side, a large smile splitting his face in half and Alfred looked suitably approving of him.   
  
Carefully, he had laced his fingers with Tim’s as they walked to the car. Their future shined bright.  
  
—  
  
Tim had flown back to München a few days after Damian’s graduation. Even after three and a half years into their relationship, it was still hard watching Tim as one of them left to return home.   
  
But Damian has a plan to change all of that as he boards the plane and stares out the window.   
  
And everything will be glorious.  
  
—  
  
He manages to coax Tim away from München surprisingly easily. Usually, his love would fuss quite a bit about his responsibility to the city and resist long trips.   
  
He is fairly sure that the other man is up to something.  
  
The Venetian Carnival is in full swing when they arrive and Tim tugs on his arm as they disappear into the sea of colors, sound, people, and festivities. Damian has to be the responsible one and insists that they drop off their luggage and check into their room before allowing the other man to drag them around the carnival.  
  
Their first stop is at a mask vendor’s stall. Tim motions for him to bend down a bit, and he complies, only to have a mask strapped onto his face.  
  
He touches it –oh look, it has a beak –and sends Tim a look, “What is this all about?”  
  
“I think you make a wonderful bird.”  
  
Something tickles his left ear and did Tim really choose a mask with  _feathers_  for him?  
  
“I’m pleased you are approving,” he deadpans as he scans the selection before him. He settles on a particularly gaudy one in retaliation with its golden swirls, jewels, and large rose and feather.  
  
“Every bird requires his own bird-queen,” he struggles to contain a smirk as he straps the mask onto the other man. He stoops down to steal a kiss from pouting lips.  
  
“That is just cruel.”  
  
“I learn every day from the most cruel of all.”  
  
Tim sniffs a bit. “I thought we agreed that Ra’s was a terrible influence.”  
  
They pay for their masks and allow the ebb and flow of the crowd to sweep them along, content.   
  
“You are by far a worse influence than Grandfather,” he snorts.  
  
—  
  
Tim is flushed and excited while Damian is left utterly unimpressed by the acrobatic maneuvers displayed. He’s fairly sure Dick could perform those feats while impressively drunk and after a particularly hard patrol.  
  
He might be unfair, as Tim tells him after jabbing the boniest part of his elbow into his stomach after one of his disparaging remark of one of the acrobats, but it’s hard to be impressed by a couple of colorfully dressed people jump around after working side-by-side with the world’s greatest acrobat.  
  
There is a remarkable flip and there is a graceful curve of her body before she lands elegantly on steady feet –and, okay, maybe that isn’t Grayson material, but that is rather impressive.   
  
His beloved’s lips are curled up in a small smile, “Told you these shows were worth stopping for.”  
  
He hums a bit and tucks Tim’s head beneath his chin as he lightly squeezes the man in his arms. Fingers slip between his.  
  
“I believe we passed by an illusionist near one of the wine stalls. We may go look if you wish.”  
  
“I’d love to.”  
  
—  
  
There is a palm reader’s stall they stop at during some point of their rounds of Saint Mark’s Square; the line is a little long for Damian’s tastes. He doesn’t exactly look forward to paying someone for lying to their faces. He is even less pleased to have to wait in a line for the lies, as if the lies of complete strangers held any meaning in his life.  
  
Yet, here he is, standing in line, buffeted on both sides by various locals and tourists enjoying the carnival.  
  
Twelve years ago, if someone told him he would be here, with Timothy Drake-Wayne, willingly mingling amongst the masses with loud, obnoxious music, blinding bright colors, and distressingly lacking amount of personal space, he would have snorted and aimed for the person’s throat.   
  
But, here he is, Damian Wayne-al Ghul, in the Venice Carnival, in a mask, holding hands with Timothy Drake-Wayne, his boyfriend.   
  
Life is a strange thing.  
  
It is nearly twenty minutes before it is their turn and Damian has been rubbing Tim’s frozen glove-clad fingers between his own hands for a good thirteen minutes, irritated at the wait.  
  
The lady behind the stall cocks an eyebrow at them and puts out her hand.  
  
“The two of you shouldn’t have to worry about anything,” she lilts as she pries Damian’s hand open for inspection, “The two of you will last.”  
  
She traces the lines on the younger man’s hand, “I don’t need to read palms to see the love and commitment.”  
  
Finally, she waves Damian’s hand away and grasps Tim’s hand and pulls him down. She whispers something into his ear and the man smiles.  
  
“Oh, I know. Trust me, I know.”  
  
That smirk has always meant lots of things for Damian; Tim is up to something.  
  
The woman grins wickedly and pats Tim’s hand affectionately.  
  
“Enjoy the rest of the festivities, dears.”  
  
—  
  
They participate in the masked ball that night with Tim wrapped in the world’s gaudiest feathered cape (“Every bird needs his bird-queen, you said?”) and an ivory Venetian Carnival costume they had rented two hours beforehand. His beloved had spent the next hour teasingly asking him if the dress’ carriage made him look fat.  
  
He had only groaned before dragging the man up for a kiss.   
  
“You could never look fat, beloved.”  
  
Damian is nowhere near as comfortable in his matching outfit. Its high ivory collar and cufflinks feel suffocating and restrictive, the hat a distracting presence. The ornately stitched designs and fake jewels make him feel like a loon.   
  
He feels tall and awkward and nowhere near elegant enough to be with Tim as the man blooms beneath the night sky and festival lights, dancing, twirling, and laughing.   
  
“When did you become so comfortable with this?”  
  
He seems to remember stories of Tim’s grudging acceptance to go undercover as Caroline Hill.  
  
“It came with my confidence in my masculinity,” there is a light twirl and a tug on his hand to join the other, “And I know that, no matter what, I will always be your man.”  
  
Tim is on his toes and pulling his bird mask away, smiling at him, “Because I know you will always be mine.”  
  
He tugs his mask back down, “This is a masquerade ball, love. It is not appropriate for you to unmask me.”  
  
“Then join me.”  
  
Even if he is an overgrown, ungraceful giant, he can still fulfill his bird-queen’s wishes.  
  
—  
  
“Where did you get those?”  
  
They are sitting on the couch in their rented room, Tim curled up against Damian’s side as the other man looks at pictures.  
  
The younger man only grunts in response before long fingers try steal the pictures from his hands.   
  
“They are souvenirs from today.”  
  
“Souvenirs? I didn’t see you with a camera all day. In fact, I am sure there was no place for you to put a camera in the costume we rented.”  
  
“I didn’t take them.”  
  
“And who did?” He doesn’t need to look down to see Tim’s narrowed eyes and thinned lips. “You did not let your creepy grandfather or his stalker-ninjas take these pictures.”  
  
Damian hums their song a bit, smirking, “It is his graduation gift, he says.”  
  
He flashes one picture of Tim in his feathered cape and Venetian dress, “I’m sure Dick, Jason, and Steph will be delighted with their souvenirs.”  
  
There is a garbled screech as Tim flushes makes an aborted grab for the pictures.  
  
“DAMIAN!”  
  
And it is wonderful to see his beloved lose his composure, cheeks a beautiful shade of red and hair in disarray.   
  
Tim tries to crawl over him in an attempt to seize the pictures and he laughs as he uses his superior reach to keep them and his love separated.   
  
“Damian, I will  _claw out_  your eyes if you don’t give those to me. Now.”  
  
The pictures flutter to the floor and, before his beloved can make a move, he has the smaller body pinned beneath him as his hands seek out all of Tim’s spots, leaving the other man a flushed, giggling mess.  
  
Tim has tears in his eyes and is breathless with laughter before he concedes defeat and Damian’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.   
  
He wants this, forever.  
  
“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, will you marry me?”  
  
Long arms loop themselves around his neck; pull him down against smirking lips.  
  
“What, no bended knee? No ring?”  
  
There’s a sharp nip at his bottom lip before he’s allowed to sit back and admire the beautifully swollen red lips beneath him.   
  
“Of course I’ll marry you. I’m your bird-queen.”  
  
This, the two of them, forever; he has all that he could ever want.   
  
He leans down, intent on making those lips just a little more red, a little more swollen.  
  
  
  
  
  
“I also picked out some rings for us with Steph last time she visited.”


End file.
